


Reconciliation

by aussiesacc



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: DNF, M/M, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiesacc/pseuds/aussiesacc
Summary: For so long he’d spent looking for someone. Someone he’d lost a long time ago. And now, he’s looking him straight into his eyes. What was he to do, since the very person he was looking for had died months ago?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very much going to make you cry unless you’re a heartless human being but anyways; people come and go with the tides. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, they’ll drift back.

For so long he’d spent looking for someone. Someone he’d lost a long time ago. And now, he’s looking him straight into his eyes.

“George?” He chokes.

The man says nothing, staring blankly into his eyes.

Dream can’t say anything. He squeezes his eyes shut, in terrible attempts to restrain himself. George went missing almost two years ago. He was announced dead about a year and a half ago.  Was this a dream?  He smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand, and opens his eyes, wincing. George was still there, staring at him with an odd look on his face. His face. Porcelain skin and dark, intense eyes; his hair the same color. A slim, strongly structured jawline hung below his small ears, which had been covered by his hair. Seeing him again after losing him so quickly, it broke Dream.  Did George remember him?  His thoughts were answered by the man opening his mouth, and cautiously speaking.

“Can I help you?”

-DREAM-

Months passed, seasons changed. Dream felt numb. His high school sweetheart had gone missing in the span of one hour. _One hour._ How this teenage heartthrob was able to get someone like George to fall for him, he’d never know. Dream couldn’t know, now that he was gone. His vision blurred and his cheeks began to sting from the sheer amount of salt water that had flowed from his eyes for days on end. Occasionally, his mother came in to give him food and water and check on him- but it was no use. He’d just sit there silently listening to his mom talk, then tune her out and stare out the window he had snuck out of just nights before to see George. He was hurting. And the numbness just wouldn’t come.  When was he going to stop  feeling ? Dream couldn’t even begin to count how many times he’d ran off to see him. Day in, day out. His obsession was insane. And now, George is gone. With no traces of him, the police could do nothing but wait. And wait. And wait. For nothing. Dream pulled his knees up to his chest and sucked in short, tempered breaths. He began sobbing, and didn’t stop until he was fast asleep on his bedroom floor.

“Clay, sweetie, you need to eat something. This is disheartening.” Dream didn’t budge. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Dream picked his head up off his knees, and stared blankly at his mother. She immediately began tearing up. To see her son like this, in such a disheveled manner, it broke her. His entire face was pale, with nothing but bright red streaks down his cheeks, and bloodshot eyes and tear stained skin. He sniffled, and at once turned his entire body around, facing the far wall of his room. Dream’s posture was hunched over and cowardly. His mother carefully strolled over to him and placed a blanket over his shoulders. She gave him a quick kiss atop his head and left the room, making sure she closed his door all the way. 

Dream hadn’t charged his phone since the night George went missing. Over a hundred missed calls and texts, and George read none. After weeks upon weeks of not moving, he finally turned himself around and plugged it in. For too long he had been contemplating charging it, just so he could see George’s face one more time; even if it meant it was through a phone. 

After a minute or so, the Apple logo began glowing on his screen. He used to love that it charged so quickly, but in this moment he despised it. His background flashed his lock screen. It was a photo of him and George. George was blushing, with a head of messy black hair. Dream had his arm resting on George’s head, beaming with love. Dream felt his eyes well up with more water, and flipped over his phone. He was not ready. A few hours passed and it felt like Dream’s phone had been burning a hole in his sheets. Dream was scared to flip it over, fearing he may see more of the picture, and remember more. But to his demise, he ultimately turned it over, staring at the large sweatshirt George had been wearing. He glanced across the room and saw it hanging on his closet door. He was going to give it to George the night he went missing, because George found Dream’s large hoodies incredibly comfortable- and he liked the smell of them; of Dream. More tears form in his eyes. His mouth felt dry, but somehow he was still able to cry, squeezing the last ounce of water out of his body. He needed to eat something, and more direly needed to drink something. His mother managed to get him to drink some small amounts of various juices: sodas, Gatorades, anything; but it wasn’t nearly enough for Dream to run on. That didn’t matter, because Dream wasn’t going to function. He had done a total of two things after George went missing. One being sleep, and two being cry. Scratch that, three; he had various mental breakdowns. Dream curled into a ball and began sobbing uncontrollably, his shoulders bobbing along with the movements of his heaving lungs. He gasped for air, and pulled his hands up to his scalp to tug at his follicles.

“G-George,” he whispered through short, asthmatic breaths. 

Dream absentmindedly picked at the loose strings on his sweatshirt. He hadn’t changed in who knows how long, and was seriously debating on moving to his closet to change. He instead bent over the side of his bed and tugged on the trundle. A large wheeled drawer filled with different socks and pajamas and such was revealed from under his bed frame. Dream grabbed a pair of sweats and a shirt, but refused to remove the sweatshirt he was going to give to George as a little gift. It hurt Dream so badly to know that he was never able to comfort and give George a part of him. He was taken from his home in the middle of the night while him and Dream were sleep-calling, and all Dream could hear on the other end of the line were muffled screams followed by a loud thud; everything after was hushed whispers and a panicked click on George’s phone. Then the call ended. George’s parents slept through it all, but Dream heard everything. He threw open his window and jumped out of the second floor. His knees buckled before he rolled back onto his feet and began sprinting to his boyfriend’s house. Deep down he knew he could never make it in time, but he still hoped. He still tried. Each and every day he wondered what would have happened if he had been able to make it to George’s house sooner. Would it have mattered? Could he have saved his panicked, weak, helpless boyfriend? Dream blinked a few times as he slowly began to recollect where he was. Or... wait. He twisted his head around to find that he had moved from his bed to the opposite corner of his room. He found himself facing the tan painted walls, searching the shadows for any signs of life. He raised his hand and clenched and unclenched his fist, just to see if he was really still alive. Then, unexpectedly, he began speaking. To himself.

“I-“ his voice was hoarse and he couldn’t speak above a low, rumbled whisper. “I need to die.”

In one foul swoop, he pushed himself into an upwards position and made his way to the kitchen. No one was home except for his mother, who had been passed out on the couch; most likely from stress. She wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore once Dream killed himself. He tiptoed across the linoleum kitchen floors and silently grabbed a knife from the wooden butchers block set atop the cold, stone counter. Then, he made his way to his bathroom. He slowly turned the lock until he heard a click, then looked into the mirror. He stared at himself, with shaky hands holding the very thing that was to end him. Then he drove it into his chest. As much as he hoped it would hurt, it didn’t. He couldn’t feel anything other than the mental pain he had been enduring for the past few weeks.  _ Why aren’t I dead? _ He pulled the knife out, wincing from the sudden cut. He tore open his shirt to reveal a small gash on his chest. The knife was sharp, but Dream was too weak to put enough pressure on it to cause any real, life-threatening damage. He dropped the knife into the sink, revealing bloodied hands. Panicking, he reached for a towel and ran it under cold water. He dabbed at his chest, flinching at every touch. He cleaned off his hands next, and threw it into his trash. His palms and fingers were stained red. His sweaty chest still bled. His shirt had been torn. He wasn’t dead though. Unfortunately.


	2. Crusaders.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to George that night?

-GEORGE-

He gave it his all. Not that it mattered. 

"Please, just leave me alone!" George whimpered as they yanked his arms to his back, restraining his hands with a zip tie.

"Awe, you're cute." A man with a deep, raspy voice said.

The room was too dark to make out faces, but there were at least a dozen armed bodies in a ready stance, as if they were hoping George would step out of line just enough for them to receive the opportunity to pull their respective triggers. 

They all had somehow broken through George's window, without him even noticing. How? He had no clue. How a ton of fully armored and equipped two-hundred pound men broke into his room silently at two in the morning, George would never know. _Never_ know.

George glanced around at the blank faces. _Why were there so many for just George? What did they want with him?_ He didn't want his mind piecing together any irrational situations. "What do you even want with me?"

No one answered.

"What do you want with me!" This time, George was annoyed. Still scared shitless, but now anger bubbled up inside of him. He was not about to let his world get whipped around by some faceless maniac.

The man presumably in charge of the crusade grabbed his face. "I don't want shit with you. I don't want anything to do with you."

"Then-" He gulped down a breath of air, terrified it might be his last. "Then why am I being taken?"

"Nice neighborhood. Pretty boy. 'Gotta fill market demands." He responded dryly.

 _So, he wanted to sell George to some sort of market. Wasn't that only a girl thing?_ Hell, he didn't know. He didn't wanna know.

"P-please just leave me alone," George was shaking at this point. Wherever the men were taking him, they weren't taking him anywhere good.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?" The man slapped George across his cheek. He could already feel the burning sensation tingling on the surface of his skin. His blood boiled. Then, George remembered it. He stole a quick glance at his phone. He had been on call with Dream the entire time.

"Wh-where are you taking me?" George let out weakly.

"None of your business."

_Damn. So that only works in movies._

The man had followed George's subtle eye motions. "Did you think I wouldn't see your bright ass screen?" He picked up George's phone. "Tell- Dream... heart heart heart, that you're gonna be away for a while."

George's eyes filled with desperation. In a last effort ditch, he screamed.

"CLAY!" He got out one last word before the man punched his gut and covered his mouth. "HELP!"

All George could do was pray he could hold them off long enough for Clay to get there; if he even heard George's cries. _Did he want Clay there though? Wouldn't he just be abducted just like George was?_ George knew Dream was strong enough to handle one or two, possibly even three, but there were a lot of armed people here. Where were his parents through all of this? George opened his mouth and bit the man. Stupid mistake. The man pulled back and winced before quickly hitting George in the head with the butt of his rifle.

George immediately began seeing stars; they flew around his room and followed his vision wherever he glanced. Then everything went black, and somehow George knew Dream wouldn't be able to reach him in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this was short! I just figured you all might want some intel on what happened to George. While I wont reveal everything, this is a good gist of what *may have* happened to George. The next chapter should be coming out in the next 24-48 hours, cross our fingers!


	3. Again.

Dream collects his thoughts and pulls his comforter over his head in attempts at muffling the screaming memories in his mind. It had been a few hours since Dream attempted suicide, and he had already wished he’d chosen a different path. For safety, his mother hid anything sharp from him thinking Dream wouldn’t go to such lengths as to leave his room for the weapon. His mother was dumb. Dream curled further into himself, holding his stomach as he began twisting into his cries. He yanked the covers off himself and stood from the bed, immediately crashing back down to the ground. Stubbornly, he pushed himself back up. He screamed and punched his wall, leaving a massive hole and four bloodied knuckles. Dream didn’t care. He yelled at the top of his lungs and blasted his other fist into the wall, in an identical motion to the last. His mom peeked through the small crack in his door. She hadn’t woken from his screams, she had woken from his loud punches. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, so the shouts were barely even audible. Then, she watched as Dream bent down and rested his biceps on his knees, pulling his forearms over his head; sheltering himself from the truth. She heard shaky breaths coming from the weak yet massive frame. His body jolted to every uneven breath. His mother heard quiet sobs. His mother watched as her son yanked at his disheveled hair. His mother watched as he fell apart on his bedroom floor. His mother watched.

Dream heard a faint noise coming from his door. He turned, back facing the door, to his bed and collapsed onto it. As much as he tried laying flat, his body just curled up on its own. His fingers ran through his hair and tugged on the ends. Dream couldn’t fathom ever leaving this room. Couldn’t ever fathom living again.

“Clay, baby.” George lay on his side, propping his head up in his hand. 

“Yeah?” He smirked, raising one eyebrow.

“Oh my god Clay, you’re such a tease.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet!” He laughs, shaking the whole bed. George smiles warmly.

“You know what, I’m going to call you Dream.” His thick accent made the word sound all the more special.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” He leaned into George’s voice. 

“You just seem too good to be true.” George blushed, and leaned in to press his lips against Dream’s. The two shared a long, savory kiss, then leaned into each other. Dream cradled George, running his fingers through George’s soft, brown hair. 

“I love you, Georgie.”

“I love you too, Dream.”

This time, Dream was determined to end himself. His stomach growled in pain, but he didn’t feel it. Dream gripped the railing of the staircase as he made his way downstairs. He knew where the box was going to be stored already; and if it wasn’t there, Dream’s dad had tubing ropes in a bin sitting on his workbench. Dream couldn’t find the rope that was previously in his room so he rummaged through the rope bin to find a suitable one for a noose. While it hurt Dream to end everything so quickly, he knew this would be the best for everyone around him.

After a few seconds of sifting through the bin, Dream found a smaller, dark purple rope that hadn’t been knotted yet. He snatched it out of the bin and sprinted back upstairs to his room. His ceiling was around 8 feet, so he didn’t have too much room to work with. He figured his light would be suitable to hang his weight, and began working away at it. After only a few minutes (his noose skills were practiced), it was ready. He pulled up a chair and stood on it, beginning to loop the rope around his neck. He stopped before tightening it.  _ Is this what I want?  _ Images of George fluttered into his mind. George. _Was he still alive? Could he be?_ Just the thought made his heart wrench out of his chest.  _ I don’t want to do this.  _ In a panicked motion, Dream tried stepping down from the chair; forgetting the grasp around his throat. He did want this. Dream closed his eyes and braced for the lack of oxygen. It came quicker than he’d imagined. Dream gaped his mouth open and scratched at the rope rubbing against his skin. He kicked his legs around in search of the chair, but when he found it, he knocked it over. When all oxygen left his body, he fell still. 


End file.
